Give Your Brain a Sprint, Think Like a Kid

I have a you’re not old yet measure for myself every summer. Near the Pecos Wilderness, Highway 63 meanders upward, then climbs over a mile at a pitch of about 8,000 to 9,000 feet. From my cabin to the Virgin Mary statue who stares from the rocks at the top, it’s a 5 mile round trip run. Every year, if I can make the run without stopping, I’m not old.

At 52, this hill is a bitch. I woke up a few weeks ago with a sense of dread. Part of my brain argued for more realistic measures of youth, the other side called me names I hadn’t heard since grade school. Always a peacemaker, I brokered a deal with myself: a hike-run. Run a mile to the trail entrance at Mora Creek, then run-hike the rest. The chore transformed into adventure before I tied my running shoes. I left a note for my family and was off.

I kept running while on the trail, cheered by the gurgle of the Mora River as the water rippled against the rocks. Obstacles appeared. Downed trees and fist to melon-sized rocks littered the trail. With a misstep, a twisted ankle or a broken limb seemed likely.

Normally, I won’t risk a run in these conditions. An injury takes weeks to heal, hardly worth the fool-hardy effort. Not that morning. I glided over the rocks, my feet somehow magically aware of the best step. Had I'd been gifted a seventh sense of georgraphical orientation, like the Tzeltal speakers in Mexico? I leapt over fallen trees, climbed boulders like a kid.

Redwoods at Big Basin

A story unwove as I raced. You are a warrior; the enemy in hot pursuit. You have to get to higher ground to defend yourself. I burst through green brush where the trail dwindled. My brain fired with a game of imagine that I hadn’t played in a long, long time.

Runners may be familiar with “fartlek” training, where the route, speed and intensity varies, in an effort to create a new challenge for our bodies. I believe our minds need the same challenge. As I age, I find I battle the barrier of wisdom, which translates into all the reasons why I can’t do something. Lately, I’ve been taking a different approach. When the wise portion of my brain tells me all the reasons I can’t do something, another portion of my brain counters with all the reasons why I can’t wait. The outcome is action versus inaction, and almost always a better day.

I found myself in this situation last week on vacation by myself in Santa Cruz. A quick tour of the internet told me the best hike in the area rested in Big Basin, up the Skyline to the Sea Trail to Berry Falls, about a 14 mile hike. My wise brain told me I couldn’t do this hike by myself. I didn’t have the right equipment and I should wait for another time when a friend could go with me. A more impulsive side of my brain knew I might never return to Big Basin. At my age, I know how quickly decades pass before I return to a spot. The next time I returned, my legs might not carry me up the trail. Decision made, I bought a day backpack, three power bars and was off.

The day unfolded into an 18-mile hike rewarded with a solo meditation in front of lush Berry Falls. The light pierced green leaves in a way that made my soul grow. My feet ached, but it was a good tired.

After the hike I watched the kitesurfers at Waddell State Beach zip through the waves. A man who must have been 10 years my senior stood next to me in a full wet suit as I shivered beside him. He’d been on the waves for four hours. He eyed the water lustfully as he recounted his leaps in laidback-California-cool-dude swagger. “But it’s time to quit now,” he admitted. “I know my body. When I push past this point I get hurt.”

Kitesurfers at Waddell State Beach, CA

I nodded, bit into the nectarine I’d bought at the farm stand on the way up Highway 1. The juice dribbled down my cheek, salted by the ocean breeze.

There’s a fine line between adventure and hurt. For me, health rests in the balance between the two. BTW I did complete my Hwy 63 run up the hill, but this year the hill seemed an inferior means to judge my vitality. Instead I faced a new challenge, more engaged by the adventure than the measure of my efforts. The fun won. My inner kid cheered and begged for more.

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